Hand In Hand
by hagiga
Summary: series of hand holding moments after the fall. Fluffy sherlolly cause i needed it.


The first time they held hands was right after the fall. She cleaned his bleeding forehead in utter silence, and he closed his eyes in concentration. She assumed he was in his _mind palace_, as John mentioned in his blog, and so she knew better than to try and start a conversation. And even if she did tried to talk, what in the world would she say?

Molly quietly announced she was done cleaning the wound when she noticed the fat drops of tears appearing between his puffy, red eyelids. Her body tensed as his breathing grew heavier until a sob shattered the silence in the lab.

Tears began to form in her own eyes while his tears flowed freely down his face. She reached her right hand out to wipe his left cheek; his skin was burning and felt moist. She cupped his cheek, her hand's warmth soothed him and his sobbing grew softer.

He reached up to snatch her hand and held it in his own; he held it close to himself, trying to warm up the hollow space were his heart started beating.

* * *

The second time they held hands was in Germany. He said he needed her to help him on a case.

_No, _she kept telling herself, _he doesn't actually need__** me.**__ He needs __**someone**__ to help him and I'm the only one that knows he's alive. _

And Molly never wondered just why _she _was the only one that knew he was alive. She never gave it a though when he wrapped his hand around hers, told her to keep running and not look back, both of them racing through the streets of Berlin.

She found herself looking at their joined hands, her gaze traveled up his arm and to the back of his head. She ran and ran, her legs sore from her –not meant for running- boots. And then, she laughed. It was probably the adrenalin from the near death experience she just faced against Moriarty's men in the pub they ran out of, but something also told her she simply enjoyed this, this running and chasing and hunting with Sherlock Holmes.

He looked back, staring at her like she was completely mad. He stopped running, she kept laughing and pulled him closer with their joined hands.

He began laughing too.

* * *

The third time they held hands was on another case. He had a hunch on an ex-solider that resided in London.

Moran, was his name, attended a large party in an estate belonging to a very rich family. Through research Sherlock discovered Mr. and Mrs. Joseph simply loved a good love story. Thus, Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes attended the ball hand in hand, and undercover.

Sherlock purchased her a pair of silk gloves to go with her cream-brown dress, but he found the fabric stopped the warmth from her hand to reach his own.

Several screams, gunshots and chases later, Moran was arrested.

Sherlock was still not ready to return to the living, especially with his ginger-dyed hair. He and Molly sneaked through the back exit of the estate and he found himself reaching for her hand.

"For the love of-" he groaned when he felt the silk glove again. He snatched the gloves and pulled her hands out of them in a frenzy. When the warmth of her palm pressed into his, he finally felt he may just be ready to return.

* * *

The fourth time they held hand was when he returned. Sherlock sat behind the kitchen table and she sat next to him, his hands were on his lap while Molly pressed a cold cloth to his face where John punched him.

"YOU ASSHOLE! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!" John shouted at the top of his lungs.

"John I-" Sherlock attempted to explain.

"NO! NO YOU IDIOT YOU- YOU USELESS- I- WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"

Sherlock tensed, Molly saw his face redden and sensed his pulse increased. She turned to John, but his cherry red face, the flared nostrils and heavy panting confirmed that she should keep quiet.

"WHAT. IS. **WRONG WITH YOU?!** "

She saw Sherlock's jaw clench, she reached her hand toward his.

"I WATCHED YOU DIE! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST- JUST STAY DEAD LIKE A NORMAL PERSON GOD DAMMIT!"

Sherlock shut his eyes, face turning less and less red and breathing returning normal.

"I am going out of my mind. I am completely losing it." John muttered under his breath.

Doctor Watson left 221B angrily, not knowing that the only reason Sherlock didn't yell back or tried to stop him was a little warm hand interlaced with that of the, now returned, consulting detective.

* * *

The fifth time they held hands was different. Sherlock found her standing outside his apartment, she was a regular visitor now that John lived elsewhere with Mary, but this time she was drenched, cold and crying.

He pulled her into the apartment and away from the rain, he snatched and put away the groceries she brought him and his hand reached to touch her arm. His palm slowly glided down to hold her cold hand, he snatched her other hand and held it in his own, sending warmth to her fingers.

She broke down sobbing. He deduced her boyfriend, Joshua, broke things off.

"I never liked him anyway." He told her.

She smiled weakly and looked up at him.

She squeezed his palm, and a tingle rushed through him.

Soon enough, he found his lips on her mouth, mind buzzing, hands still holding.

* * *

The sixth time they held hands was several months later. They stood in the middle the living room of 221B Baker Street while it snowed outside. That cold December evening, after the Christmas celebrators left, he held Molly in his arms. They turned on the radio, 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' playing in the background. They moved back and forth, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck, his right cheek pressing to hers.

"Molly?"

"Hmm?" she asked, eyes closed and a smile on her face.

"If I changed, if I told you that I completely changed from who I was all those years ago, would you still want to have me?"

She smiled, sending her hand gliding through his soft, raven dark curls.

"Always," she kissed his cheek "Always."

"Good." He kissed her lips.

As he did so, he reached for her hand and held it by their sides. When her mind cleared from the blissful fog of the kiss, she felt it.

A small, cold tingle of metal pressed into her palm.  
She gasped, looked at him, smiled and nodded.

He slipped the little silver band on her ring finger, and thus their journey began, hand in hand.


End file.
